Five Little Piggies
by funkyorange
Summary: When John and Sherlock are called to the murder of a newsagent, everything seems normal- until a strange man breaks into the flat, and a secret John has desperately been trying to hide is revealed. T for violence, substance abuse, occasional language and references.
1. This little piggy went to market

The first thing John could smell as he approached the crime scene was _Bauerschweine_ blood. The crime scene itself was a small newsagent, sweets, magazines and newspapers all over the place. The body was in the centre of the room, and John could feel his features reshaping themselves into a wolfen cast at the sight of all the red blood, the smell of it…he could almost feel- _no._ He stopped the thought in its tracks. _Keep looking at the crime scene._

His eyes traced the headless body in the centre of the room. The head itself was on a spike behind the cash register, as though it were serving an invisible customer. What John found most interesting, though, was the writing on the wall. He walked over, sniffing it discreetly. It was most definitely written in blood- the_ Bauerschwein's_, apparently. In spiky writing were the words: _Dieses kleine Schweinchen ging zum Markt. _

He sighed. He hadn't picked up any scent of a _Blutbad_, but it was possible the scent was hidden behind all the blood. But it could be the work of a Grimm, or perhaps a _Hundjäger_? He ran over the possible list of suspects in his mind, not noticing DI Lestrade's stare.

"What does that say?" Lestrade asked.

"_This little piggy went to market_," both Sherlock and John replied at the same time.

"You speak German?" Lestrade asked. Sherlock didn't answer, staring at John.

"My grandparents on my mother's side were German," John explained. "I grew up speaking it.Opa and Oma Grunewald wouldn't have anything else- they wouldn't talk to anyone not speaking German." He shrugged under their stares. "They lived in Germany all their lives- my parents met there. Mama and Dad met, came here and had me and Harry."

"How did I not realise this?" Sherlock murmured.

"I dunno- I don't speak to anyone who wants to speak German to me anymore. Harry didn't like it and Mama died a few years back, so I suppose you just never saw me speak it. As fascinating as this is, is there anything relevant to the crime here?" He asked, hoping to take attention away from himself.

"This man owned the shop, no children, lived alone- upstairs is a flat?" Sherlock began speaking. "He's recently been in mud, from what I can tell- locally. Doesn't have much of a social life, no girlfriend, appears to like books and reading…" He continued to deduce the man in front of them with a clinical eye. "John?"

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"Would you mind examining the body?"

John kneeled by the bloody corpse. "Whoever it was appears to have tried to strangle him," he frowned, noting the finger-bruises underneath the blood. "But that isn't what killed him." He went over to the head. "This would do it- blunt force trauma." The man's skull was crushed, hair, blood and bone in a messy mixture on the back of his head.

"Any ideas on what removed the head?" Sherlock coaxed him.

He leaned forwards, sniffing slightly- _Blutbaden _scent. Not someone he knew, thank God, but it was definitely a _Blutbad_'s work. He traced the lines.

"Teeth," he muttered. "Teeth." He repeated louder at their questioning looks. "They pulled his head back, and just dove in, apparently not stopping until the head came clean off."

Lestrade looked slightly ill.

"Well done, John," Sherlock praised. "I didn't think you would get that."

"Full of surprises," he muttered.

Sherlock poked around the crime scene for a little longer before deciding there was nothing else of use to them there. The taxi ride home was silent- Sherlock needed time to think over his discoveries, so John kept quiet, playing Angry Birds on his phone. By the time they got back to 221B Baker Street, Sherlock appeared to have thought over the crime scene and was ready to talk.

As they went inside, a banging and crashing noise met their ears. John's hand flew to his gun, and he crept forwards, using his heightened _Blutbaden_ senses to their full extent. Mrs Hudson was out, one person in the room- _Schakalen_, quite possibly looking for something to steal. Sherlock's heart was beating slightly faster, and he could smell his anticipation. He lifted a finger to his lips, and Sherlock rolled his eyes. Creeping forwards, he opened the door. The _Schakalen _whirled round, and John raised his gun, and let his face take on its more wolfish cast.

"Put it on the ground," he snarled, voice coming out lower and more gravelly, almost a growl. Sherlock's violin, his laptop and several of Sherlock's body parts were lowered carefully to the ground. "Turn around and put your hands on your head." The _Schakalen_ did as he demanded, and John roughly grasped his arms, preventing him from escaping. "Sherlock?" He asked, letting his face melt back into its usual human form, "Call the police." Sherlock nods and grabs his mobile phone.

"Don't hurt me!" The _Schakalen_ whispered. "Please! I just wanted stuff to sell!"

John did not release the man. "What's your name?"

"Thomas Smith, sir!"

"Calm down, I won't hurt you. I'm just a bit upset because you're on my territory, taking my stuff," he snarled the last.

"I know! I'm sorry! I was desperate!" Looking at the _Schakalen_, it was obvious he was only a kid- around eighteen, scruffy and unshaven. "I just needed some cash for some Jay, alright?"

John sighed. He knew people who were Jay addicts- Harry had been one before she met Clara, before she had quit the Wesen world by ingesting the blood of a Grimm to be with her girlfriend. Unfortunately, alcohol had become a replacement for the drug. He knew that the kid wouldn't understand that no, that drug isn't worth throwing your life away for, but he sighs and nods anyway.

"I get it. Doesn't mean you're not going to kill yourself one day. You know the consequences, the risks…" He trailed off. He knew this speech- the same speech that he'd given Harry, time and time again…

"I know all of that!" The _Schakalen_ snarled.

"Of course you do. But you don't really realise it until it's upon you, do you?" He knew it was hopeless, though. He knew that when you were addicted to something like Jay, you wouldn't stop until you nearly died, and getting clean was a long, hard process.

The doorbell rang, and Sherlock, who John hadn't even noticed re-enter the room, got up to answer it. Lestrade stood at the door, staring at John and the young _Schakalen. _"Who's your friend, John?"

"I wouldn't say friend," he replied, "more like 'desperate junkie I found attempting to steal our stuff'. He says his name's Thomas Smith, though."

Lestrade nodded with sympathetic eyes. "Has he taken anything?"

"He was trying for Sherlock's violin, my laptop, and for some reason body parts," he explained. "We get them from Bart's, don't be daft!" He added at Lestrade's alarmed look.

"Right. Sorry."

John noticed Sherlock was being very quiet. He headed over to his flatmate as Lestrade read Smith his rights and took him out.

"What's wrong?" He asked the genius consulting detective.

"What's Jay?" Sherlock asked abruptly. "I gathered it's a drug, but what type? And you know more about that crime scene than you were letting on- why were you scenting the air? How did you know it was teeth marks- you've never seemed to notice things like that before? What aren't you telling me?"

_Okay, I don't actually speak it, but the German should say:_

_Dieses kleine Schweinchen ging zum Markt -This little piggy went to market_

_Opa- Granddad_

_Oma- Grandma_

_And the creatures from Grimm are:_

_Schakalen (SHAK-alen) are jackal-like Wesen who seem to lead a thieving lifestyle. They are very ferocious and have been known to eat babies. "Schakal" means jackal._

_Blutbaden (BLOOT-baad-in) are wolf-like Wesen with a keen sense of smell and great strength. The Blutbaden are very violent when in packs and are provoked by the colour red. Their sense of smell can be weakened by the herb wolfsbane and they are vulnerable to attacks to the lower back. Variants include the Wider Blutbad, a reformed Blutbad who abstains from the killing of humans through a regimen of diet, drugs, and exercise. They are the mythological basis for the Big Bad Wolf. Blutbad literally means bloodbath in German and wider is an older German word for against._

_Hundjäger (HUND-yay-guhr) are vicious dog-like Wesen with heightened tracker talents and relentless sense for pursuing their prey, which is why they become feared hitmen, enforcers or bounty hunters._

_A Bauerschwein (BOW-uhr-shvyn) is a pig or boar-like Wesen. They have an intense rivalry with the Blutbaden that dates back centuries. The rivalry is so intense that the Blutbaden are even blamed for Bauerschwein suicides. Bauerschweine like to take mud-baths in order to think, calm their minds, and soothe their skins. The Bauerschweine are not usually antagonistic towards others and thus rarely find themselves at odds with the Grimms. They are the mythological basis for The Three Little Pigs. Bauerschwein is the combination of the German words for farmer and pig._

_While not generally thought of as a Wesen species, Grimms share a bloodline trait separating them from normal humans: they are capable of seeing the true form of a Wesen, typically when the Wesen is startled, afraid or otherwise emotional. A member of the next generation receives the gift as the last approaches their deathbed or is murdered. It is a long-standing tradition that Grimms hunt Wesen who attack the general population - traditionally killing them by decapitation - and keep journals recording their encounters with Wesen for future Grimms to learn from. Although the protagonist Nick Burkhardt (from the programme Grimm) has been informed that Grimms only hunt "the bad ones" of the supernatural world, many of the creatures he encounters are instinctively afraid of him, due to the fact that Grimms are rarely seen by average Wesen and over the years have acquired a reputation as mythical boogeymen. Other than their ability to see Wesen as they truly are, Grimms also seem to possess a natural ability for profiling people and improved fighting abilities. They are also resilient to such magic as the Coins of Zakynthos, which makes ordinary humans and Wesen become overconfident, power-hungry and obsessive. They have been guardians of the Coins for many generations. It has been suggested that if a Wesen ingests the blood of a Grimm, it will strip them of their powers and abilities, essentially turning the Wesen into an ordinary human, though this has only been confirmed with a Hexenbiest._

_Wesen (pronounced VES-sin with the first vowel short in the show Grimm, while the actual german word is pronounced with the first vowel long and the second syllable sounding like "sen" in sense). Wesen is German for 'creature' or 'essence'. Although the names of the Wesen listed below are compounds of German words, they are not German words in the sense that these creatures do not exist by these names in the Grimms' tales, nor are they referred to as such in spoken or written German. Further, the words are not always pronounced using German diction._

_While most normal people cannot see Wesen, there are times when they can "allow" themselves to be seen. This is where the legends and stories come from and are passed down as fairy tales from The Brothers Grimm. So far, the only time this has happened has been when certain Wesen were victims of an experimental drug._

_While most Wesen have been seen interacting with each other relatively casually - barring some tensions between particular species, such as Blutbad and Bauerschwein having a particularly tense relationship with each other - it is unclear if long-term relationships between Wesen of different species are possible._

_Jay-_ _Jay (from "jacine", the mold it is made from) is an opiate-like painkiller, often used for recreational purposes. The drug is highly addictive, and seems to elevate mood and induce drowsiness in Wesen. The drug is lethal for most humans, but not for Wesen. As it is unknown to most humans, there is no law prohibiting it. It is derived from a mold called jacine. It is the equivalent of mixing Meth, rat poison, and helium. Abuse can cause liver disease._

_The drug can be acquired through dealers or through private clubs that resemble opium dens. Jay addicts will go to great lengths to acquire Jay._

_As you can see, I've changed some elements of both Grimm and Sherlock. I apologise if my characters are OOC, but they're all new characters to me and Sherlock, in particular, is a difficult one to write with his leaps of logic that he doesn't explain. Once it's revealed I can see it, I'm just not very good at making it up. Ah well. Please enjoy and review._

_funkyorange _

_PS: Neither show belongs to me. _

_PPS: Sources are Creatures of Grimm on Wikipedia, Jay- Grimm Wiki, and Google Translate. _


	2. Explanations

_Hi guys,_

_This was written when I didn't have any internet so hopefully all the information here is right!_

_funkyorange_

Sherlock and John stared at one another, John slightly surprised at his flatmate's outburst.

"Okay," John sighed, heading into the kitchen. "Let me make a cup of tea, and I'll explain."

Sherlock paced the living room as he made his tea, clearly wanting answers. John placed a cup of tea down by Sherlock and a plate of biscuits. He grabbed his own tea mug and set it down on the table.

"Alright," he opened the conversation. "What exactly is it you want to know?"

"Everything," Sherlock replied, not even noticing he was nibbling on the end of a chocolate digestive.

"Alright then," John sighed. "Sherlock, whatever I say next, however strange or _stupid_," he glared at his flatmate, knowing Sherlock's habit of calling everyone around him an idiot, "it sounds, you must promise to believe me. Let me finish explaining the bare bones of what I'm saying, and then you can ask questions, alright?"

"You're nervous," Sherlock observed.

"Yes," he interrupted before Sherlock could tell him everything he'd deduced about his mental state. "But that's not what we're talking about." He sat and thought for a moment, sipping his tea. "I think it's better if I show you."

"Show me?"

"What you are about to see," John continued, ignoring Sherlock's question, "is completely real. I can absolutely promise you that, and it's still me. I still know you, and I won't hurt you." He closed his eyes, ignoring Sherlock's further questions, and let Sherlock see his _Blutbaden_ side.

"Oh," Sherlock breathed. He was staring at John like he had never seen him before. John opened his eyes, and Sherlock inhaled sharply at the red that he had not expected.

"What are you?" He breathed, coming up to touch John's face, reading the new and old lines, feeling the difference between human and this.

"I'm going to explain, be patient," John replied. "Okay. Have you ever read Grimm's fairy tales?"

"Only the children's version, which I believe are heavily censored," Sherlock replied. "I've never needed to read the uncensored versions."

"Right. Do you remember the big bad wolf?"

"Are you suggesting that you are the big bad wolf?" Sherlock asked incredulously.

"We're the basis of it," he explained. "In general, we're called Wesen, but there's a lot of different species within that. I'm a _Blutbad_, the big bad wolf, and I'm pretty much top of the food chain. The man in our flat was a _Schakalen_, who are kind of like jackals. The man who was killed was a pig, a _Bauerschweine._ There are others, but those are the ones at play right now. _Blutbaden_ have enhanced senses, that was why I was scenting at the crime scene- all Wesen have them, but not quite to our degree, we're the top predator, like I said."

Sherlock nodded with a slightly dazed look on his face. "Did a Wesen have anything to do with the crime?"

"Yes," John replied frankly. "_Blutbad_ scent was all over his neck, the _Blutbad _was the one who bit open his neck. Not someone I know, thank god, but someone. The scent was pretty weak, but I'm pretty sure it was female."

"Do you know why a _Blutbad_ would do this?"

"There's…tension; I guess is the right word, between _Blutbaden_ and _Bauerschweine._ I mean, when I was a kid, I was the only _Blutbad_ at school apart from Harry, and this _Bauerschwein_ kid killed himself. Most people thought it was because he was bullied, but apparently the _Bauerschweine_ thought differently- our family had to leave because we started getting death threats."

"Can you tell me more about _Blutbaden_?" Sherlock asked, mind leaping around.

"Sure. I am what's called a _Wider_ _Blutbad_; it means I don't eat humans. It's hard, but yeah, I manage. My parents don't like it, but I went to this diet when I was sixteen, I'm not going back on it now."

"How do you deny your instincts?" Sherlock asked.

"It's different for everyone, but it's basically diet, drugs and exercise. My cousin Monroe is a vegetarian, while I eat meat only on Thursdays, for example."

"Drugs?" Sherlock asked sharply.

"All legal and beneficial," John replied. "And we tend to avoid the colour red, if we can help it."

"Why red?"

"You know, Little Red Riding Hood? Red sends us mental- when someone wears it, it's hard to keep control. It's like you've been starving for days, and you're so hungry…" He shook himself. "And it can be sexual, as well- if someone you've been lusting after wears it, you can find yourself in this strange haze- you want them, right there and then, and you want to eat them as well. It's seriously strange, so yeah, we try to avoid red."

"Earlier, you mentioned this is your territory?"

"Ah," John, for the first time, blushed. "It's like a dog marking its territory. _Exactly_ like that. You know, 'Other Wesen, stay away! My hunting territory!' I don't claim much, just enough for when I want to go out running. I don't want people killing on my patch, thank you very much."

Much to John's embarrassment, Sherlock took in all the words, and then smirked. "Like a dog marking its territory? John, are you telling me you've urinated outside Baker Street?"

"Maybe," he blushed.

"Well? Have you?"

"None of your business," John replied hastily. "Much like this case."

"Wait, what?" Sherlock asked.

"Sherlock, you do realise you can't take this case alone? I'm not stopping you from working on it, of course not, but you will be hunted down by this _Blutbad_'s pack!"

"You said you have scent markers!"

"Yeah, but this isn't a _Blutbad _that's accidentally wandered here! This is a bloodthirsty pack of wild beasts that's coming after you! When a _Blutbad _is hunting you, the smart thing to do is find a Grimm, which is what _we _are going to do. They're the only ones that can take out this killer, and not suffer for it."

"What's a Grimm?" Sherlock asked. "As in, Grimm's fairy tales?"

"Grimms are the law enforcers of our world. It's kind of harsh- you kill someone, they chop off your head, or put a poison dart in you or something. They kill you, is basically what I'm saying. But if you have a problem with a Wesen, you call a Grimm. We think it comes from a long time ago, tradition and all that."

"So do you know a Grimm we can call in?" Sherlock asked.

"I do," John nodded. "I mentioned my cousin Monroe? His partner, Nick, is a Grimm."

"What about their intelligence?" Sherlock asked. "Undoubtedly they are idiots, but how much of an idiot is Nick?"

"Monroe's about my level, and Nick's pretty smart. He's amazingly good at profiling, slightly like you, actually. Nowhere near your level, but yeah, he's good at it. He's also quite good at fighting- it's hotwired into his blood."

Sherlock nodded, apparently satisfied by this. "How soon can they be here?"

"I know Nick has a lot of holiday time, and Monroe's self-employed, he's a clockmaker. If you want to keep him entertained, dig out some old clocks, that'll keep him busy when we're not detecting around London."

"I have some old family clocks," Sherlock nodded. "They are in a state of disrepair; no clockmaker here would be able to keep them running smoothly."

"Monroe's the best," John promised. "He knows a lot about old gadgets."

"Can we call them?"

"Of course."

Monroe was getting a beer out for himself and Nick for with their congratulations-you-solved-a-case pizza when his phone buzzed. He frowned down at the caller ID.

"John?"

"_Hi, Monroe. You know that Consulting Pest I was telling you about?_"

"How could I forget?" He asked. Nick slid next to him, asking silently what was up.

"_Well, he's somehow managed to get a case involving a beheaded Bauerschweine. I was wondering if you and Nick could make it to London for a while?_"

"I'll ask Nick," Monroe replied hesitantly.

"_He has some rare clocks_."

"Done."


	3. Meetings and a Fresh Crime Scene

After a two hour phone conversation, John and Monroe had the basics sorted. Nick and Monroe would be flying to London the very next day, giving the killer less time to strike again before they arrived. It was a happy coincidence that Nick's scheduled time off fell at the same time he was needed. A very happy coincidence, in Monroe's opinion, as apparently Nick became almost Sherlockian in his behavioural patterns when off work- destructive, annoying and very, _very_ hard work, apparently being one of the reasons Monroe was alright with Nick putting in so many hours.

Sherlock was apparently extremely excited about their guests. They had cleared out John's old room, which had become the room that they put pretty much everything into after he had moved into Sherlock's room a month ago. John had decided to stock up the fridge, so that they could at least show slight hospitality towards their guests. Milk, tea, sugar, coffee and cupboard-fillers were bought, leading to another row with a chip-and-pin machine.

And, the worst thing to happen when preparing for guests- Mycroft Holmes, in all his umbrella-d glory, decided to pay a surprise visit.

John had been out buying milk (how they got through it so quickly was anyone's guess, but in Baker Street, the milk was always off, non-existent or in the process of being used for some grisly experiment) when Sherlock's elder brother had arrived, so he had been horrified to learn via text that the Holmes brothers were in the same room, in a freshly cleaned flat, _unsupervised._ He had hurried home, abandoning the quest for the dairy drink, to babysit the two.

When he had gotten through the door, Mycroft had stood up and greeted John warmly.

"John, how are you?"

"I suspect you know, but I'm well, thank you," John had replied. The rest of Mycroft's visit had been the man trying to persuade Sherlock to take a case. When he realised, ten minutes after John had walked in, that he was not going to get an answer that was not 'no', he had left, leaving Sherlock furious.

John had barely restrained him from going to shoot the wall, even though 'the wall had it coming', they needed the flat to look presentable, and that meant no bullet holes in walls, for Monroe and Nick.

Monroe had not seen his cousin John in years. He followed John's blog, reading all about how John had met a consulting detective after being shot in the line of duty, and had been described as 'brilliant and utterly frustrating'. He knew how John felt- in fact, John and himself had created a club, P.P, standing for Policing Pests, members, two. His own Pest was currently trying to burrow into Monroe's body heat, sleeping in a frankly very uncomfortable looking position, twisting in the plane seat.

"Nick," he whispered. "Nick!"

"Whaaa?" Nick slurred, voice heavy with sleep.

"We'll be landing soon," he explained. "You should wake up and put your seatbelt on- and look out the window, London is very pretty from up here." Monroe followed his own suggestion absentmindedly.

Nick's hand, slightly cooler than his above-normal temperature, closed over his. "You're worrying about John," he said softly.

"Yes," Monroe replied. "I've been following his blog, I know what's been happening in his life these past few years, but I don't know _him_."

Monroe wanted to be told it was silly, that John would love him and Nick and Sherlock would like each other too, and they would solve these murders without anyone dying or being hurt, but he knew that wasn't going to happen.

"He might like you," Nick shrugs, "and he might not. Just like he might like me and he might not, or we might not like him or Sherlock Holmes. It'll happen how it happens."

"Thanks," Monroe smiled.

John was pacing the cold, hard floor of the airport, people bustling by without a glance. "A-ha!" He whispered, dashing up to his cousin and grabbing his arm. "Monroe!"

"John!"

In typical Wesen greeting, the two showed one another their Wesen forms, Nick watching with curiosity.

"And you must be Nick," the short, stocky man turned to him.

"You must be John," he replied. They shook hands, and, much to Nick's shock, John didn't seem at all uncomfortable being around him.

"I served with a Grimm, in the army. Nice bloke," he replied to Nick's unspoken question. "Sherlock's waiting outside- he was making loud deductions about pretty much everyone. When the third bloke started looking likely to punch him, I told him to go and deduct things about people outside, but _quietly._"

As they headed outside, they heard Sherlock talking loudly.

"Lestrade, I told you- they are _my_ consultants on this case," he was talking into his mobile. "If you do not let me bring them along to the crime scenes, then I will pull out of the case altogether. You know I can do it." Sherlock then hung up, turning to Nick and Monroe.

"Hello, you must be Nick and John's cousin Monroe. I do hope we'll get along, and I would love to play a cello/violin duet with you, now come along or we'll miss the fresh crime scene."

Sherlock strode away, leaving a bewildered Monroe to ask, dazed, "How does he know I play the cello?"

_Hi guys,_

_Wow, long absence is long. Real life got in the way. It sucked._

_funkyorange xx_


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